Remember to Forget
by Cattypatra
Summary: The Colesium has always been the home to aching souls of the people that couldn't move on, and it has always been home to the most savage battle ever fought. A battle for lost loved ones and a yearning that neither of them could forget. SephirothxSora


The Coliseum. A world of gladiators, discarded SOLDIER's, crumpled SEED's, warriors, street fighters from Agrabah, Heartless and people who just couldn't move on. People that had either lost too much or too little, people who had to fight to find the point in living again.

A battle was being fought in the famous arena, an arena filled to the brim with screams, blood and dirty, fallen heroes. Just another fight for another day. Another two people desperately trying to find themselves by destroying someone else, because it made them feel better.

And this time, it was a fight that had been fought many times before. A fight that never got boring, no mater how many times it was watched, and no matter how many times it was fought. A fight that would last forever, like in Valhalla, where they could fight until they exhausted their bodies and went to sleep. And then fight all over again.

The Oblivion key glittered in the light as a massive samurai sword smashed down to meet it, sending a terrifying screech over the whole battleground.

The elegantly flawed keyblade whipped around, only to be followed by the childish kingdom key into a perfect combination, the owner of the longer sword darted out of the way, wind catching in their glossy black angels wing.

Feathers spiraled over them as magic was thrown, inside punches, kicks, bites, blood and rendered bone. It was vicious, it was brutal, and it was the only thing the two of them had left to hold on too.

Then there was a lull, the two separated to opposite ends, trying to calm down their racing breaths and hearts.

Sora looked over to where Sephiroth stood, his wing hanging lamely at his side, thick, glossy feathers covered in the demon's black blood. Sora smirked as he wiped at a cut that was bleeding profusely into his eyes from his fore-head. Couldn't let that distract him now…

And with a shout Sephiroth was upon him again in a whirling mass of sword, legs, silver hair and glaring green eyes.

Just like Riku.

Sora blocked again and again, and the tortuous dance continued. Each step was laboring, each breath was harder to take than the last as their bodies neared their own destruction. But they wouldn't have wanted it any other way. This was as passionate as either could force themselves to be, fighting on the battle field, half mad with the lust for blood, death and broken bodies.

They'd been at it for hours, days, months, years. A never ending battle, their bodies not growing any older from the furious onslaught.

They felt pathetic. Stupid. Washed up heroes before their peak, and left with nothing else inside. Sora was hardly 18, and yet he already felt jaded and used. Sephiroth was a little older, and yet he felt that his life had already ended. Once it had been okay for him, a chance at a new life with Cloud, away from all the horrors and experiments of their previous world, but that couldn't last. Cloud was gone now, swirling around somewhere with his lone demon wing, Sephiroth's eternal other.

And yet, why did Sora's eyes sparkle like mako?

And why did Sephiroth look so much like Riku? The Riku that had shoved the keyblade deep into his chest, so that the metal bit against his taut muscle and died for Sora?

Their battle was as close as they'd ever get to their loved ones again. And they found strange satisfaction in bleeding until they were knocked unconscious, and they loved the feel of pain against their burning muscles, and Sephiroth's feathers gliding across their skin.

And then in the night, it was a different kind of battle.

A battle of lips, tongue and nails. Always seeking a place to rest, and never finding it.

One minute Sephiroth would have Sora pushed against the door, the next Sora would be arcing his fingernails into Sephiroth's chest from his position above the one winged angel on the bed.

It never ended.

Two souls looking for each other in people that reminded them of something… that they were never meant to have.

And so they fought, blades arching down onto each other. Screaming in ecstasy as they bled, nights to rough to find peace in.

But that was okay.

They liked it that way.

- - - - - - - - -

Okay, that was weird, but I really had to get it out of my system, it's been bugging me for WAY to long now.

Hoped you liked it, and please review!


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